


Where This Flower Blooms

by lovenfall



Category: iKON (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, a little bit of double b, bad boy bob, bobhwan, everyone is straight until they’re not, letsgetthisbread, olltii/woosung is here too, rated m for language and possible violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2018-12-27
Packaged: 2019-07-16 09:02:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovenfall/pseuds/lovenfall
Summary: Jiwon climbs into the wrong window one night. And then over, and over, and over again.





	1. Monday.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, hello. Listen, it’s chaptered, I don’t know how long it’ll be or where I’m taking it yet, but Bobby has tattoos. The title was inspired by Tyler, the Creator. That’s it.

_ I. _

 

 

 

Jinhwan absolutely hates Mondays.

 

And Tuesdays, and the rest of the weekdays that follow soon afrer. The deeper they dig into the dark, dreadful hole of the semester, the more he wishes to just stay wedged down there and rot, quietly and in peace. It’s all he pleads for through the hazy thrum of every word that’s haphazardly piled up into his notebook during lectures or meetings, or whenever the entire class saves their voices for curiosity on his squeaked answers, when the professor wakes him from his short-lived, or if he’s lucky, a full blown nap, to inquire about the day’s topic of study which he obviously wasn’t remotely listening to.

 

Many times he wished he could curl up and disappear away from judgement, or stand and stare at his teachers right in the eyes, whatever it takes to get there, and tell them to fuck right off, that he’s exhausted and stressed, hasn’t had his coffee that morning again and has to tutor until late that night, as he had the night before. It tempts him when he’s wiping his drool smothered cheek and fixing his hair, but he doesn’t - because to his poor luck, his dismay, and perpetual sleep deprivation, life had other plans in stake for him. And he hated them so far, albeit grateful as well for even having the ability to recognize his distaste.

 

So patience and endurance, patience and endurance, patience and endurance; this had quickly become his go-to litany he often needed to repeat to himself, trading it for better focus on the steps he took through his life every day.

 

Him and his life, even his decisions, share a peculiar, bittersweet relationship.

 

The same way he likes his coffee, black, bitter and with a bit of sugar. A teaspoon or two, he tells the baristas whenever he orders an americano — but that’s besides the point.

 

The point right now is how terribly slow his Monday mornings go no matter what, and how he keeps running out of coffee too fast for no reason.

 

Somebody had told him once, some tall, drunk idiot at a frat party he, although begrudgingly, had the honour of being invited to by Yunhyeong, and had only attended for the free drinks, awful music and hot people – that maybe Mondays weren’t that bad, but his adult life just sucked so far, particularly on the week’s start.

 

“Maybe because of the amount of classes you chose, big brain,” - again, his bad choices, “or because you’re so short.” The smug fucker proceeded to laugh after that, and if Jinhwan weren’t so preoccupied with feeling sorry for himself, he would’ve punched that cup he sipped on into his face.

 

He couldn’t really argue with him for real, though, feeling that pitiful and considering how piss drunk he was as well; he really did have shit luck sometimes, even back in Jeju when his life was more laidback, but there was also the fact that he might have been a complete masochist, wasn’t that great at making academical decisions, or very fond of starting off a week on an empty tank or a hangover, and early classes, despite how much he loved is major. That’s the amount of consolation he could offer himself.

 

And in addition to being a senior now, while having to research for and writing his thesis on time, he also tutored English to some individuals who couldn’t grasp a single dime of it, not even graze over the edge, and after that night at the party, the tall idiot who wasn’t really drunk anymore had asked him for tutoring - sober him was unfortunately loud and obnoxious, and clingy — Junhoe took it upon himself to follow him around like a tail whenever he could, so, his life was particularly loaded like a pointed gun at this point.

 

He was everything at once at just the tender age of twenty-four, running on too much caffeine and barely paying off his rent. The world, universe, or God, whatever was receiving his nightly prayers, seriously owed him ten vacations and a threesome with two super models after graduation. And some time to actually go see his mother and older sister after a long while.

 

But for now he humbly settles for some therapeutic undressing and then sleep. ‘Self care’, he calls it. He needed it more than anything after an entire day - an entire Monday of school, and work and writing until feeling like his brain and eyes were bleeding out of his skull. This was too much production in a day for an introvert of a hundred and sixty five centimeters.

 

He barely makes it through clothing himself after a long bath, which he were constantly nodding off through, and some wine in his lonely, flora scented apartment, barely crawls into bed at past two in the morning to sleep when he hears his living room window rattle, then a series of knocking.

 

At first he tells himself it’s nothing, drowns himself in his pillows and duvet and weaves his existence into the mattress, and hopes that he never has to part ways with them again, the noise possibly thrown at his window by the wind outside since the weather these days has been awkwardly sitting between a misleading sliver two seasons. He submits to unconsciousness, waits for it to encase itself around him, too, and pull him under until he’s snoozing his alarm for the seventh time in the morning.

 

_Click, click, click._

 

Tomorrow will be better, he doesn’t have classes until twelve—

 

_Click. Click, click, click – **clack**._

 

The knocking persists, blurs his thoughts, and he waits then, twitching and irritated until he knows for sure that the weather wasn’t his ideal culprit, but something else entirely. Someone else.

 

“Christ—“

 

Jiwon. Or whatever his name was. Jinhwan can’t remember while all he can think about is kicking this guy off his windowsill. He’d already broken one of his precious flower pots last time he was up there, when they’d first met. In one of the most unconventional ways Jinhwan could ever think of, really, but he wasn’t very surprised, given the type of person Jiwon seemed like he was.

 

It had become just another thing life decided to casually pluck from wherever the fuck and slap it right into his overflowing plate, as if he already hasn’t had too much, a broad, raucous bulk of a man he thought he’d never see again after last week’s incident. On a Monday, of course.

 

It was about past eight when Jinhwan had been seated at his desk and half-consciously working in his thesis, fatigued and close to slamming his forehead into his keyboard when Jiwon had fallen right into his life like the ball drop in New York on new years evening, but more brunt, tattoos, curly hair - and human. More specifically he’d dropped into his living room floor as he tried to fit his large frame through his window for some reason, no doubt having done it before, kicking off a pot of young flowers Jinhwan was very much fond of in the process.

 

Said reason he’d explained after, and Jinhwan had absolutely nothing to do with it other than the lease to this apartment being his now rather than of whoever he’d been looking for, and whatever was in it that Jiwon might’ve left behind, they weren’t here anymore.

 

At least that was the conclusion he consoled himself with after he’d searched the entire apartment that night for good measure. Considering there had been an actual gangster in his living room not too long before, there could’ve been a hidden body of sorts for all he knew. Jiwon might’ve been looking to retrieve it, or mapping out his place to fit one inside when he wasn’t looking or something.

 

He could’ve easily became that hidden corpse, too.

 

But Jiwon, as big and murderous as he’d appealed, had been surprisingly gentle and pliant with him, and left after their mundane, one-sided discussion, Jinhwan warning him after to never climb his window again, no less after dark, or else he’d report him immediately not only to his land lady but also to the authorities.

 

But apparently, while standing in his living roomwith his curtain shoved open and deadpanning at inked digits that frantically pointed at his locked window slots, watching those eyes gloss over with some sort of childish hope, it seemed that either this man had selective hearing, was an idiot or just didn’t care.

 

“Yo, can you open up?” Jiwon calls, muffled by glass and the night. The wind blows and a strand of his hair gets stuck in his eye.

 

Jinhwan squints at his squirming, evening contoured figure for a moment, his subtle reflexion offering him a visual of how closely his eyebrows press together and how deeply he frowns. And he thinks about how he, Kim Jinhwan, are a man of his word, knows Jiwon could slip if he were to squirm much longer, or easily kill him in the dead of these ungodly hours if he ever let him in again and he knew self defense, and instead fumbles for his phone and earnestly dials 119 right in front of him.

 

“Please leave, I’m calling the cops right now.”

 

 

 

 

_II._

 

 

It was a personal delivery, his last one for the week although it had just started. Or at least it was meant to be as such, to be successful at completing his duties early in exchange for some free time to go get laid or sleep at home, and for a second while climbing through that tight window that night, Jiwon really did believe he was on the right track.

 

He’d been through this more times than he could ever manage to count on his fingers and toes - the forceful squeezing of his broad shoulders and the promising risk of getting his hair caught in the locks, or dropping straight onto his face if he pushed through too hard. He knew how that last part felt, too, of course, had been laughed at for being so rough and impatient with the window. So he decided he’d break one of his stupid flower pots this time since they were there — although he couldn’t remember during when exactly Hanbin had mentioned that he’d buy flowers for his sill, or if he even fancied them that much, but alas, he felt good kicking that pot off to it’s misery.

 

At least until he found out that either he had crawled into the wrong window, or Hanbin wasn’t really living in that place anymore, realization pinching him sober not too long after crashing into the laminate, just last week when he thought he was making a difference by breaking his flower pots.

 

And for some reason the news had both infuriated him, as it had tucked a grotesque, dreadful feeling in his heart the same second it hit. Surely not because he was immediately under the risk of a late delivery, not the consequences, but perhaps more so because one of the people he dared to genuinely cherish the most in this life he lived had upped and left him cold and empty. Just like that, without a word.

 

It was obviously not a prank, either. Even his tireless scent had left with him, replaced by some delicate, complex aroma of more flowers. Jiwon just knew, and it made him angry at himself for ever believing he’d always get to smell like him when going home in the early morning.

 

He couldn’t spend long nights in this place anymore, smoking and eating fried chicken with Hanbin at three in the morning, or playing games on his old laptop if they weren’t sleeping or messing around with garageband and microphones, always hidden away from the land lady because she refused to have thugs wandering around her property, she once said.

 

It was all gone now, all his traces cleared away as if he had never been here or Jiwon’s, occupied now by this small, broad man with a mole sitting at the lower edge of his eye.

 

He should’ve left when he could when he saw that open window. Hanbin never had his windows open around eight, not on Mondays at least, since he had work. The fucker was dedicated, so he never missed a thing, or a night of work unless he was hospitalized or some shit like that.

 

Jiwon should’ve texted him first as he always did. Not that it would’ve kept him away, anyway.

 

“Are you here to kill me in my apartment or...? I don’t really... uh... have any business with any gangsters, though.” The tiny guy had stated all matter-of-factly despite his evident fear, seemingly stuck to his desk where his laptop sat as frozen as his frame had been. Jiwon seriously felt bad for breaking his flower pot then.

 

“Uh, nah... uh... I mean, so that guy that lived here doesn’t live here anymore? My bad for intruding, then, he was my buddy and... y’all land lady doesn’t like me either, so yeah.” He offered, tried his best to articulate properly and explain reasonably for the startled stranger. “Ask her yourself if you don’t believe me, ask her about Jiwon.”

 

He wanted to avoid coming off as threatening, habitual, as much as possible, evident in the way he used awkward hand gestures to get his points across. The other guy only just blinked at him the entire time, traced after visible tattoos and wind-blown strands of his long and curly hair, and Jiwon felt like a piece of sculpted art at a museum - except he wasn’t being admired at all.

 

“Lookin’ for something...?”

 

He cleared his throat and the guy had shifted a step, a bit belatedly he noted, which brought something back to him, that first question. “Oh, shit, no, hey— ‘m not here to kill you or anything, alright? Relax, dude. If Hanbin, the dude before you ever comes back, can you let him know I was here?”

 

“I doubt he will, but sure. You should never come up here again, especially at these hours.” He seemed to finally relax at that, brushing through his brown hair with a sigh and even stepping from his desk to fit himself back in his chair.

 

Petite, and soft, Jiwon thought. He didn’t look like a day grown over five foot. And he was undeniably pretty as well – the land lady must have had a knack for the pretty ones. It would only make sense of why she despises him so much. “We don’t know each other so you have no reason to do it anymore, yeah? I could call the police on you.”

 

Jiwon nodded in agreement, apathetic and deceivable to the both of them while he slipped his palms in his jean pockets, before being asked to leave again.

 

And it was supposed to end there, as a failed delivery that wasn’t his fault.

 

But the rest of the week proved itself tremendously boring for him, with no work on his plate, Hanbin gone, and zero other friends since Woosung barely counted as one. His loft was near-empty too, as usual, save for the two day old leftover pizza or empty boxes and beer bottles astray in his living area - which only consisted of a large leather couch and his tv. And that guy’s persistent fragrance was still on his t-shirt.

 

“You smell like a unicorn shat on you.” Woosung had told him when they met up once, and repeated it with more graphic additions throughout the rest of that day.

 

He tried contacting Hanbin multiple times after the sun had set through the week, when he was left with just his large windows and the stars blinking down at him in wonder, quiet and longing for the comforting rustle and lazy hums of his warm best friend in his bed, rare times when Hanbin came over with his anxiety or his loneliness and they shared it until the morning.

 

It didn’t work, of course. He hadn’t picked up and Jiwon didn’t get to hear his voice, foolishly hoping he would at least hear his silence, but there was nothing.

 

So on Sunday night, he’d decided to finally pray for his eternal safety without him, and swallowed the pill of him cutting their ties without saying goodbye. And it hurt. It hurts, so much it makes him delirious and irrational. For years Hanbin was more home to him than his own empty loft, and now he’s gone and he’s left in this hollow place to get lost in alone.

 

This wasn’t like him, he’d been through this many times before since he’d lost the most important chunks of his life, dealing with troubling detachment issues, but this time he couldn’t help himself but to blindly seek for the only thing that would comfort him, just this once.

 

Which explains why he ends up on this windowsill again, breaking the other flower pot at past two in the morning. A terrible time to play soccer with decorations - the window wasn’t even open this time but he needed this, badly, and he was going to make sure he’d get it tonight even if it meant dealing with cops.

 

Though ideally, he preferred not to.

 

“Hey— wait- wait, I left somethin’ behind here last time. Can I come in and find it? I swear–“

 

The short guy was looking rough tonight, and terribly aggravated by his presence, and Jiwon couldn’t blame him for the latter. But he also couldn’t find it in him to blame himself, either. He was as much human as everyone else, with a heart, even if he wasn’t very known among his peers for having one that often.

 

“Please, leave.” Short guy insists on a flat tone, blinking at Jiwon in a different manner than he had the first time they’d met. He’s exhausted, and he didn’t even type in the right digits to call the police. But that’s not very much relieving, not until he’s inside and seated into that couch he always laid in while Hanbin made dinner or was showering, or gone out.

 

He can’t casually sit there and tell this guy his entire life story or the details of his relationship with his best friend, so he could convince him to let him in. Unfortunately, and it was fucking embarrassing to mention about his needs to cope. He’d probably sound just like a high schooler going through a breakup after three days of being in love.

 

So it takes him a while of subtle coaxing to get there, and the other guy a few attempts at calling that wrong number until he realizes he’d dialed and had been calling the wrong line the entire time, and gives up entirely when his neighbour – that girl that lives next door, knocks on his door and tells him to keep it down.

 

So it’s about twenty minutes after him getting there when he finally gets to fall inside through the window like a newborn baby. With a record, some piercings, and worn out cigarettes in his back pocket. The faint scent of flowers drop kick him in the nose, but then it’s only part muted by the musky odor that wafts from worn leather when he cooly drapes himself over the couch that was not Hanbin’s anymore.

 

The other doesn’t say anything at all, simply pulls his window back down and locks it as if Jiwon had other friends on the way up, too. Then they sit in silence for a moment, a moment of him being thoroughly scrutinized again as he breathes in the memory of spilling beer into the seating.

 

Then a cold and pointed, “Sorry, but you’ve just about ruined my entire week... You have five minutes to honestly explain to me what you want from me, and then ten minutes to take it and leave before I call the police.” And he brushes his hair back again like before, seems to do it under stress, or maybe it was just a habit, and blinks sleep from his eyes. “I’m sure you’re not a student so you wouldn’t know how painful this is for me to deal with right now, so please, hurry.”

 

“...Sorry ‘bout your flowers.” Is all Jiwon can manage before a fatal silence encases itself around them again. He’s not sure if the intensity of it comes from him, or the short guy who’s wrapping around himself the tenser visibly gets - for both of them refuse to speak for a while until the other cracks from the dark haze, casted luminance of the moon through his curtains, and shuffles to take a seat in that chair by his desk, clearly irritable since he doesn’t bother to turn on his lights. But it’s a little amusing because he’s so small. He behaves just like an angry puppy.

 

“Okay, look, whatever your name is, ‘m only here because... of impulse, honestly. ‘m not tryin’ to kill you, or I don’t know, whatever else you’re thinkin’. I just needed this for a bit, but if I’m so threatening to you and your pretty face and school life, I’ll leave soon.”

 

It seems to be what the other wants to hear, fortunately, because his silhouette settles back in the chair a heartbeat afterwards and sighs out, albeit quiet and shaky. The kind of sigh that only came from someone who was crying. Jiwon knew a lot about those, so he didn’t really have to see his face or hear him speak again. He wasn’t even nearly surprised that he was crying. He looked the type.

 

This isn’t going to last for long. Of course, Jiwon couldn’t have this much either.

 

“...You don’t have to know my name,” he strains, and Jiwon feels bad for ruining his sleep and wrecking his flowers for the umpteenth time, even if it was by accident just earlier, “Just know I’m really tired, so unless you somehow cancel out my schedules tomorrow—“

 

He doesn’t console him, but he does ask only once, “Are you cryin’...?”

 

“— which surely you can’t- just, please, leave me alone, Jiwon. Your friend is gone and I don’t want to be bothered and—” And gets no answer, obviously. Doesn’t bother to repeat either.

 

That’s all he needs to quietly take his leave from a crying Jinhwan less than ten minutes later despite all the effort it took to get inside, stepping out of the front door this time with his hood up, head down, and hands tucked to safety in his pockets.

 

Jinhwan. Kim Jinhwan, who he barely got to meet, again. He’d seen his name on his way out the front, written on a card he had on his counter that Jiwon had taken. He was a tutor as much as he were a student, seemingly. It fit him, he supposes.

 

But that’s the only useful thing he managed to get out of all that, so he’d just have to work with it.

 

On his way back home now, a lit cigarette lazily hanging from the corner of his mouth, Jiwon thinks long about sending him a few new pots of flowers for his window, an apology that he wholeheartedly deserves for all the trouble he had to deal with the past two Mondays.

 

It wasn’t something he did often, especially order flowers on his name. It was troublesome. But with his best friend gone, and Jinhwan’s pots all wasted because of him, he has no other place to put his generosity but where he’d left it behind. No choice but to sympathize.

 

So the next morning when he wakes up, he sends him five pots of fresh daisies, and lilies, and whatever else the lady had named on the phone, just for his sill, or interior if he pleased, and albeit it not being his style, vows to take his front door the next time he has to fall into that apartment again — twirling that name card of Jinhwan’s between his fingers with might be yet another idiotic decision in mind.


	2. Sunflower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi, you. i have a lot to say about this chapter but i’ll just leave you to it. i changed up the layout/structure (?) a bit, because i’m indecisive and i want you to play with me! please, enjoy yourself. get to know the boys and peep into their lives and meet their friends, then as i go everything will surely intertwine (i will try my best to make that very much ‘wow’). might be a slow burn since i like little details.

Jiwon had never been one to chase ghosts.

 

_“We’re sorry, but the number you have dialed has been disconnected.”_

 

There was nothing unambiguous about searching in corners he knew nothing of. Nothing rewarding about the darkness he had to crawl through, the loud silence, slowly introducing him to madness. Anger, which sat thin within the edges of his windows and made him paranoid.

 

This was of no value to his ego. A terrible detriment to his already-barely-existent roots of trust. He should’ve known better from the start. He should’ve stayed true to him, believing not in phantasms.

 

Yet this morning he had still picked up his phone a second into awakened consciousness, after a haunting nightmare that warned him he shouldn’t, but still he chased, and chased, and _chased_. Ran into that same wall of loss again, bricks he had been leaving pieces of himself tucked in between for an entire week since.

 

They were well acquaintances and he were notorious for fighting for guaranteed triumph against it, conquering brick by brick even if he were bleeding from his fingernails, every single time— only he were losing this now, he were lost, and he felt absolutely nothing as much as he had felt everything. All at once.

 

One more time; _we’re sorry_ , two times; _but the number you have dialed_ , three times; _has been disconnected._

 

( _“I’ve been thinking.” Hanbin breaks their silence first. Pushes the tiny slivers of paper that he’d been tearing through for almost an hour off his desk in a delicate whisk of air. They flail and scatter to the floor like Jiwon’s ashes out the window._

_The birds he’d been watching take flight when he turns away from daylight, and he swallows smoke into his lungs with a dull hum. “Hm...”_

_Hanbin fidgets and Jiwon knows what he’s about to say before it tips off his tongue. He had mentioned it before, just like this. Uneasy limbs and eyes so hard they are almost steel._

_“Let’s leave this place,” he whispers it like a dirty secret, as if divinity would pluck it away from him were he ever heard. It is a secret, their secret and a sin by all means that mattered. “Hyung, let’s cease to exist soon.”_

_Jiwon never believed he could do it, against all the odds he knew of. Somehow it had escaped him that his impossible odds were never mutual to Hanbin’s.)_

 

And he was barely left with a limb for himself in the end. Had lost his eyes that kept him from becoming a stray, and all his sorts– his way towards a home he knew nothing of anymore. Loss has been vicious with him as life always had been. And he knew that already, he understood it better than the language he speaks every day. Just not like this.

 

( _“Let’s cease to exist soon.”_ )

 

_I can’t._

 

This was a different kind of torture. Worse than knives folded into flesh, nothing at all like having a single nail torn off for hours, or tasting the rawness of death and metal endings on your tongue with a loaded barrel in your mouth. This loss was not so honourable, not so empty.

 

_And I fucking hate it._

 

Gleeful clouds line the early morning sky outside like it’s recess, and the sun is borne for the first time today not too long after. And it smiles in his eyes, as it would over vast seas of turquoise and menacing blue, blinds him the same time it strips his brood from his veins. He blinks against the rays that dress him naked, snuffs out his cigarette and lights up the lonely last from the pocket of yesterday.

 

The warmth of day and withering lungs keep him from obsession and ruining his phone once again- as he had weeks ago during a meeting- and mock him all at the same time for doing it again.

 

 _You’re an idiot_ , he hears the sun berate as she sets her comforting light beneath his lids and her searing fingers in his scalp. Lines the empty loft behind him.

 

_I know._

Yesterday should’ve been my last time trying.

 

( _“Let’s run away.”_ )

 

Nobody coincidentally stumbles into your life at the right moment, dusts the cobwebbed corners of your heart and renews the racy sequence of empty palpitations from within, makes life-threatening plans with you, then disappears. Nobody. Not even for Kim Jiwon, as someone with so much access and stolen privileges that would cost him his lifetime. Unless there was something that had been said and planted over their conspiracies that Jiwon didn’t quite understand. He doubts that now, though.

 

Or maybe he’s just bitter, with a rotten aftertaste that numbs the tongue and loads his throat with silent laden. Threatening to choke like hands around the neck. And cold. Like plain americano coffee taste.

 

Maybe he’s just someone everyone is meant to leave. And he never learns.

 

( _He sees Hanbin cry for the first time during their last winter spent in Jiwon’s apartment. Those tears were shed selflessly._ )

 

Tears. He sees them again in the eyes of a strange man in the dark, inside an old apartment which smelled less of his friend now and more of coffee, and flowers. Those were selfish tears. Tired tears.

 

He hopes to never see them again.

 

This time when he calls, it does the complete opposite of immediately falling out of line– as he struggles into a hoodie, doesn’t know how many times he’d already worn the same pair and his favourite sweatpants since doing his laundry a week and a half ago.

 

“Yo, come over later, y’know when and for what.” Or well, having it done for him in the middle of the night after he’d walked into his closet in search of underwear and could hardly get across the floor without reaching the other end with a scrap of cloth tucked between his toes.

 

 _“You’re so fucking lazy. Clean your own apartment.”_

 

Donghyuk wasn’t his paid maid—who was satisfyingly terrified of him for no reason, and she was not allowed in his closet to begin with—so he still didn’t need to clean and Jiwon didn’t have to pay him for it. Donghyuk was also not supposed to speak with him like that. But Donghyuk still did both, and Jiwon still kept the kid around because he reminded him of his youth, or something, seeing as he wasn’t much older—just wiser. And he cooked well. Another depth of reasonings he’ll delve into and sort out later.

 

 _“...I’ll come, though...”_ Donghyuk responds defeatedly a few beats later, and all Jiwon had to do was smoke in silence from his end. He almost snorts, vividly visualizing the pull of expression on the other’s face right now, deadpanned and pouting unknowingly—he wears it around him _that_ often.

 

“‘s a good boy. Don’t be late, ‘know what happens when y’all keep me waitin’.”

 

Donghyuk dares a dramatic sigh through the line and it almost tickles Jiwon’s ear, _“I know, hyung... But you don’t be either! Above dirty, your apartment is somehow also scarily empty and I hate being alone with those windo—“_

 

He interrupts before Donghyuk could mention everything he finds wrong or even misplaced in his apartment, “Later, kid... Complain later, mm? ‘m busy right now, so later. You can fix ‘em while you complain.” And this time he does laugh, a dry heave and gravel hum, because the other whines.

 

 _“You’re really terrible, Bobby hyung...”_ Oh yeah, _Bobby_. Donghyuk only knows Bobby and not Jiwon– Bobby is his boss, and only just that, at the end of the day. “ _I’ll be over later, make sure you have a nice day!_ ”

 

Donghyuk hangs up before Jiwon could agree.

 

After that, his morning is merely tossed aside for early noon, having slowly concluded his brood and savoured the quietude while he stood around by his floor-to-ceiling sized windows or fidgeted about his loft kicking up clothing and trash, letting his smokes burn aimlessly at the corner of his mouth. So he had other things to do now.

 

Things he doesn’t do. Not even as Jiwon.

 

It’s definitely been worn before, the hoodie, he notes unimportantly—it smells richly of _Chanel Blue_ as he shrugs a leather jacket on after another spray or two, the nearest one he finds between a hung plethora of them, all sizes and designs of priceless black leather– and when outside of his closet he tucks a pocket of it full with a fresh box of cigs.

 

His shoes are next and the last thought by the time he’s finished pacing himself with that second cig, hovered by the door and on his way out into a world that could at any moment close it’s fist around him and shatter him into itty bits. Like crunching autumn leaves in your palm. So today he picks simple trainers that irritate his ankles if he’s not wearing socks.

 

They were easier to kick off and lose in case he were somehow caught and needed to run before he were stepped on under his own tree.

 

Some naïve, gullible fragments of his consciousness still hopelessly clings to the impossible probability of running into his lost friend on his way out, or in– if only for a few seconds. He would drop the world for that moment. But realism spars with those useless pieces of him as he hides in the corner of the sinking elevator, and it wins quicker than he could escape his reflexion in the mirrors.

 

Early August, it is, Summer a mere fragment of memory behind his back now, yet the weather remains persistent as he still has to squint under the unforgiving rays from above when crossing streets or passes window shoppers and spares a brief glance of his own at what’s on sale. On diligent feet he presses past a few middle schoolers crowding near a small business shop with their tiny book bags hanging on loose straps off their shoulders, busy counting spare coin among themselves to pay for a cup of sweet rice cakes to share. Or we could just buy candy, one of them suggests ever so boldly, and it reminds Jiwon to smile.

 

It’s a beautiful hot day to play pretend again. Everyday spent astray from harm’s way is beautiful.

 

He tucks away all remainders and traces of the Jiwon he’d woken up as by the time he’s near his destination, and replaces him with the man he often wishes he were, the man he would be if life was ever kind enough to him to allow him such luxuries. Moments this rare have taught him to embrace _him_ , albeit still having to hide evidence of the real Kim Jiwon’s existence— the assorted tattoos that adorn him even down the length of his digits, hidden away in his pockets with his smoking habits amongst other little things, stolen the night before by the Jiwon who smokes religiously and owns an entire separate closet of tuxes, plenty gifted and some not.

 

The loud echoing of footsteps within a too-narrow, cement grey stairway leads to heaven. It’s oddly nostalgic to be proper after so long, instead of risking his life over rusty ladders and skipping balconies. The old, hateful woman must be away, as he’d slipped through the front gates much too easily without anyone really recognizing him, followed in after a petite, young lady wearing her hair in a bun. A chance of pure luck, otherwise the old land lady would have sent him running back to hiding by now.

 

He smells flowers and steps on a lonely petal out in the hallway when he gets there, and it’s as if the scent curls in his company and follows behind him on slow tiptoes to the door from which it comes, fresh and new. Gifted by faux generosity of a faux man, humane beauty he wishes to exploit himself someday, if he ever were free to be honest.

 

Perhaps that’s why deserves it, every ounce, finding the fresh arrangements still innocently sitting outside, most likely abandoned or ignored, as dulcet as they might be. Faux generosity could only earn him so much, obviously.

 

He tucks between them and knocks with silence and a frown hanging at his lips, as he hadn’t rang himself up from downstairs— actually, he’d forgotten he could do that instead of waiting to slip his way in.

 

There’s clear activity inside, a noisy thud and then hiss as if someone had just dropped something heavy, but the door remains rudely unanswered for a while until he finds the bell and slams it with his fist once, twice, five times—

 

“Punch that one more time and I’m pressing this call to the police...” a nasally voice finally cuts from behind hardwood, both dismissive and pleading at the same time and Jiwon is as much glad he hadn’t rang first as he recognizes that voice. He might’ve been left for dead camping outside the lobby door, only yearning to personally hear him talk again.

 

“Did you leave something behind... again..? I don’t have tim–”

 

“Heeey, ‘s Jiwon... y’know... Uhhh..” he slyly interrupts with a clearing in his throat, stubborn as he is uncharacteristically sheepish as he looks straight into the peep hole and peels off his hood. Long raven locks curl free in response, like the tiny smile at his mouth. “Window climber guy who broke your flower pots and sent you new ones. May I... come in? We should talk.”

 

“Yes, I see that,” he sighs, silent enough that anyone different wouldn’t hear him. “But we shouldn’t talk. You also shouldn’t send me those either... I–.... I’m—” his words lead Jiwon’s eyes to the delicate petals tickling his ankles, listening to the muffled fumbling behind the door, “Look, I’m.. seeing someone and they might misunderstand. Just, leave it.”

 

He’s lying. Jiwon knows lies. And Bobby knows them best.

 

“I can explain,” so Jiwon persists, obnoxious. “If you don’t wanna lemme in or take the flowers, fine, but I can at least take you for some coffee or somethin’—“

 

 _“Hey, I’m late again so come pick me up, quick, yeah, bye—“_

 

“Really? You got a guest at your door yet you’re takin’ a call?” Jiwon screws at the locked handle to no avail as the other guy fiddles near with a wavering fade of his voice and padding of his feet, across his apartment and back.

 

“A call... No– I mean yes, but _no_ , you’re not my guest and I just told you I have no time. Take them and leave, please? You don’t have to make up to me, Jiwon. I’ll be fine if you just leave me alone—”

 

There’s the faint sound of clicking, like something being unhinged. Unlocking. He hardly hears it, so it couldn’t be the short guy’s door (he’d forgotten his name already). Survival instincts coat him like a blanket, and he makes to slip away. If the guy was leaving he’d have to leave at the front anyway.

 

“I will.” Is all he responds with as the neighbouring door swings open and a small, petite girl steps out of her quarters, seemingly oblivious to his presence as he walks past her with his head held down.

 

It’s ironically the same girl from earlier, but she dresses differently now, seemingly for some sort of occasion he can’t care less about, and she suspiciously does not even glance over at him as she locks up. Either he’s not very noticeable as many might think, she knows him, or she must’ve been eves-dropping and is trying to cover that up by avoidances now that she’s forced out of her home and from the gossip by time. Or none of the above. Basically proves herself useful nonetheless.

 

An idea occurs as he pretends to text on foot and then lean against a different door not too far down the hall, and he’s sure the other guy will hate it.

 

 

 

 

Silence.

 

And it’s admittedly more dreadful now, to actually hear the clock count down the hour in detail, the minutes it takes him to drag on some jeans and a sweater and brush his teeth by the front door as he listens for any sign of his potential ride, the longer seconds that pass by him in the mirror, spent combing pomade through his hair and putting a generous layer of ointment on that bruise he’d gotten on his hip from falling out of bed. And making homemade coffee in between as he slips across laminate with his mug, all instead of gathering his belongings and actually dashing to campus on foot to save his own ass. As a responsible and exemplar student would do.

 

 _Welp_ , at least he were practicing more self care in the meantime. A few more glorious forms of it which he’s lucky enough to hold so closely in his grasp, minimal effort and thought required and not even a breath near luxurious but nonetheless as important as curling up in a hot tub with a glass—no, _bottle_ of wine, with a face mask on and some silky masseuse hands on his bare shoulders. He could be chewing on a snack thing or two as the water boils away his problems—

 

His phone chirps from the bed with a new text that startles him out of a wistful fantasy, and the read words make him think and his coffee taste so bitter it’s almost as if he’s gulping through a hot mug of fresh poison down his throat.

 

_hey. why didnt u lgive me a chance to talk._

_cant pick u up._

_im in class w like 20 more mins to go. ㅎㅎ_

 

Junhoe, the tall idiot, responds with no help, and Jinhwan swallows his last sip with regret. Perhaps he should take this as a lesson to rise after that first snooze of his alarm next time, instead of sleeping through five other snoozes because he doesn’t start until lunch time. (He won’t).

 

 _Thanks a lot. Can always count on u!_ He replies and doesn’t read what might be just a block full of emojis in the next message Junhoe keys in, in the middle of his lecture. He will not let a guy with probably a single pea for a brain inside all of that generous amount of head, ridicule him; a grown, mature man who probably has come more close to unintentionally overdosing on caffeine through several occasions than seeing his family in an entire year. That same intelligent stud who refuses to listen to his alarm clock almost every single morning he needs education.

 

_Did the fucker ever even have a class at this hour on Tuesdays before?_

 

He gives up on his first block then, realistic and tired as he’s plopping back in bed with his laptop and a ricocheting brain as he quickly composes a sloppy email to an acquaintance he’d made in that class. Relying on yet another person for academic assistance—he scoffs.

 

It wasn’t something he viewed so positively after a specific incident in high school until now, especially if it meant that it could effect his track towards something as crucial as his degree. A track he always wondered _how_ he managed to keep as solid, though, considering his terrible decision making issues. But Junhoe had failed him first so a backup wouldn’t kill, plus emailing his professor right now sounds too official.

 

The email shrinks away into the system successfully, and as if planned, not even a breath and beat of silence later his doorbell sings. Like the mail has come back in tangible shaping straight to his front door, folded pretty in an envelope and meant for old-fashioned delivery.

 

He jerks up in surprise, swears that he’d end up in the _damned hospital_ by the end of the day from being frightened so often, in a matter of just a few hours—though when he checks and sees his neighbor waiting, he figures perhaps he should check on her first. They attend the same university so maybe she could take pity on him and offer him a ride, although she had never mentioned having a car to him before.

 

“Hey, what’s—Ah...“ _Oh_. Cactus Dahlias of magenta based gradients, and Pinks, and their fresh and dolly scent of cloves. Those of many greet him for it feels like the umpteenth time, beautiful and boisterous as fit for a vibrant summer.

 

How could he forget? About the plentiful flowers delicately tucked at the foot of his door? And of the one who had made the call to gift them in the first place, who’d _just_ been here, sounding nothing of like to the pink tinted card which came with the flora, tossed on his counter for sole keep of the poetry—he stands not too far behind her now, his smile all shit-eating and bright, having most likely caught and manipulated her into this.

 

 _Brilliant_ and _annoying._

 

Involving a third party in their business to get his attention, and all she can counter his glare with is an apologetic grimace. He knows she’s innocent, too, and as much of a victim as he is, but he’s quickly upset, too upset now to really rationalize in the moment.

 

“Hi, hyung. May we come in? She brought me as her guest and we got delivery for you.” Jiwon starts, and the gravel in his voice makes Jinhwan itch, as it’s almost tangible.

 

“No.“ Jinhwan tries to shut his door on them, but his force shudders stagnant into something solid before it gets so far– a hand, which must be really strong considering he’s not at all weak either. Jiwon jerks his chin towards Jinhwan’s neighbor, who’s looking like a deer caught in headlights as she internally fights with her contemplations, signaling to invite them both in as if he hadn’t heard him protest and pushing the door back into his palms to make room for the both of them.

 

And he could only stare, incredulous at this guy’s courageous and forcefully persistent nature. If it weren’t for his neighbor’s sake, he would’ve immediately called the police for real. Reported Jiwon for breaking into his home or the like, whatever keeps him far away for good. Maybe when she leaves.

 

“Where should we put ‘em?” Jiwon’s eyes film over his size quickly, petite but fading soft around the edges, his eyes. Kind, as he’s not. (He doesn’t know why he notices that) “Or leave ‘em floored and you’ll move ‘em?” Jinhwan doesn’t entertain his curiosity, though, he just shrugs passive aggressively as he holds the door still agape and watches as it falls effective on the only female in the room, who places her basket on his floor and hurries back out with a silently muttered apology, hanging even off her thick heels.

 

The remaining presence in his room makes it harder for his heart to let her voice through, though.

 

He needs him out, and the asshole knows that, too, but acts coyly around it–which makes him all the more unbearable. Jinhwan could think of many other, many _better_ ways of wasting the remainder of his time.

 

“Smells like coffee today... Can you pour us some and we can talk over some sips?” Jiwon absently dusts his palms at his jeans, inked fingers flexed and likely rubbing nonexistent dust on himself. His eyes follow Jinhwan’s apartment structure in that meantime- he catches his stare briefly lingering on his couch, and it ticks him off for some reason.

 

Why was he so attached to _his_ place? What was his history with it and that friend of his? He could ask, he could pour them coffee and sit on that same couch, and share a proper conversation with Jiwon. About their goals and aspirations, their history and how they got where they are today.

 

But it was also none of his business. He didn’t care for becoming friends with someone like him, especially going through this after that god-awful night, the rather peculiar predicament which was their first meeting.

 

He blinks, unresponsive as he holds the door and watches the other drag his eyes over corners that were once familiar to him, apparently. And when Jiwon shows no sign of leaving, squares his thick shoulders and sticks his palms to his hips–while he awkwardly holds his eyes on the flowers by his feet, Jinhwan sighs and shuts his door to move to his bed for his phone.

 

Which wasn’t there now, where he’s sure he’d left it. Where he always leaves it.

 

“Oh hey, lookin’ for your phone?” And that is what collects every last bit of his attention. Much to his dismay, since he’d opted to instead ignore him and call the police, but Jiwon’s just another step ahead of him again.

 

Jinhwan grows so livid his mouth erupts. “What the fuck? You send me some flowers and suddenly think you’ll get a pass for literally _forcing_ yourself into _my_ apartment,” he snarls with fervor, feet striking his floor in small thuds with each word that cuts past his throat. The closer he gets to Jiwon, the bigger he becomes, his tattoos and eyebrow piercing growing with detail. But Jinhwan’s genuinely too furious for fear, or anything really. “Then you steal my fucking phone, too? Are you fucking _serious_?”

 

“Woah—I didn’t steal it- Calm down, hyung. I..’m just playin’! C’mon...” He doesn’t expect Jiwon to struggle, to reach out for him. He expects him to blow up, too, or knock him out cold and take his money, to pull out a knife for raising up on him like this. But he only ties his tongue with words and holds his hands up defensively. “It’s in my pocket. Look—Jus’... I’m sorry, don’t call the cops. Just wanted you to have my flowers, alright? I paid good cash for ‘em...”

 

“Fine. I’ll take your damn flowers, Jiwon.” His voice drops and vibrates, not apologetic but the way it does when he’s upset enough. Jiwon’s eyebrows quirk up with something of hopeful sorts in his eyes then, and Jinhwan reaches in his pocket for his phone then looks him straight into that unfitting gaze and puts slivers right through that hope. “I’ll take them, but the next time you show up at my doorstep or you send any more, I’ll have you arrested for good.”

 

The next time he blinks, his eyes grow hollow once again, and that satisfies the hyung and his faux bravado. “...You’re really close. I get you’re mad, ‘don’t blame you, but I’ma have ten chins if you come even closer...” Jiwon flatly muses, curly fringes falling in his crossed eyes. If he’s wounded, though, Jinhwan can’t yet tell, clenches his jaw as he steps back to rub down his chest and sit by his bed.

 

“A’ight.” He hears, after a few deep breaths and buzzes of his phone through the tangible silence. “I get it. Must really be that bad havin’ a guy covered in tattoos in your place. A guy that dresses this way,” he sizes himself up for laughs, possibly attempting at lightening the mood—it only sours it up farther, Jinhwan’s mouth stuck on a frown. “...Yeah, well, sorry. Take care of the flowers, hyung.”

 

“Wait, who told you I’m older–“

 

“Neighbor. She told me your name, too, and that y’all attend the same school.” Unbelievable.

 

“But I’ma forg—”

 

“Okay, get out and go make friends with her then. I have classes to attend.” He waves him off, even as Jiwon’s already stands by his doorway.

 

“Yeah.”

 

And then Jiwon is gone and Jinhwan is stuck with his clock as company again. He doesn’t add value to the faint scent of expensive perfume left behind, which takes comfort within his quarters and tickles his sensitive nose. He opens his windows to air his apartment out and after a long couple minutes of staring at the precious flowers, so innocently sitting on his floor, he breathes out a throaty sigh of exasperation as if responding to the innocence and decides to shop for pots later.

 

 

The day goes by at a moderate pace after that noon, consisting of the usual race between classes, coffee spilling on his shirt again and Yunhyeong trying to teach him ways to avoid it for the umpteenth time, and Junhoe hovering around, of course, talking just like he texts.

 

His last class finishes at a decent enough hour and that allows him some shopping time, at least groceries if he can’t reach flower pots today. He didn’t have any tutoring scheduled for later, either, so he figures some alone time without falling asleep five minutes after getting home would be lovely. He could cook, and study or watch a movie.

 

“I need a girlfriend right now.” He starts, drags his shoes lazily over cobblestones in time with Yunhyeong’s own sharp steps and shoots Yunhyeong a tiny side glare when he hears him giggle under his breath.

 

“What? Are you sulking?” Yunhyeong responds as if Jinhwan wouldn’t smack him if he teased. He’s probably right, but he would _pinch_ him. “You’re alone tonight, right? Invite one of the girls from our class and go on a date, treat yourself.”

 

“I’m on foot, it’s embarrassing to bring a girl out and travel by bus with her...” He holds tighter onto the arm of his bag and purses his lips at the horrid thought, eyes squintingthe deeper they walk through sunlight and hundreds of faces he doesn’t recognize, and their leisure steps eventually lead them to the school’s parking lot where a lot of other’s gather the same way. His eyes catch onto a couple in particular, and— “Unless you’ll lend me your car for a few hours.”

 

Yunhyeong notices and shakes his head dismissively as he chuckles to himself, then reaches inside his pant pocket for his keys. “Sorry, hyung... I love you a lot, and want you to get a girlfriend soon, too, but there’s nooooo way I’m letting you hook up with a girl in my car. Do you want a ride home, though?”

 

Said hyung scoffs playfully and turns away from the keys the other holds up to his face, already set on walking home by foot. “I’ll go by foot. Better exercise, and I got stuff to buy. Thanks, though. Drive safe and text me later, mm?”

 

His friend hums joyfully and seemingly bemused by his attitude as he unlocks his car and climbs in, probably bluffing to tease Jinhwan as he steps on the gas and his engine growls at him smoothly. It probably would’ve worked if he hadn’t so neatly dragged his seatbelt on, or was holding both hands onto his steering wheel as if he were just now on his first driving lesson.

 

“You look like a fucking amateur!” He calls with laughter after him as he pulls away with a loud honk.

 

For a moment he truly believes he’ll get to end his day on a good note. But of course, peace doesn’t last long in any corner where Jinhwan’s existence chooses to rest next.

 

“Now you’re lonely again.” A voice he recognizes almost immediately responds, a voice that was not Yunhyeong’s—or belonged to _any_ of his friends at all, for that matter.

 

A voice he’d heard of so much today that for a moment he thought he were imagining it, but when he turns into it’s direction and his eyes find it’s owner, he almost has a mental breakdown right on spot. Or he’s having it and he can’t yet recognize the caliber of it.

 

He’s not dreaming, he knows for sure, and that makes things worse. It’s that smile again, from earlier. And those horribly kind eyes. He allows them to draw him in just the same. “Want a ride with _me_?”

 

“I thought I said—“

 

“No, you said your apartment, or if I sent you flowers.” Jiwon corrects him with a solid point he can’t argue with, before he even finishes. “Nothin’ about here. That your boyfriend?”

 

But Jinhwan tries anyway because he’s stubborn and admittedly even disturbed, “What, so you’re _stalking_ me now? Is that it? Jesus, why do you care so much?”

 

“What?” The other replies as he finally pulls himself out of his car, which looks like nothing a regular college student could afford no matter how many overtime shifts they worked through in three years straight. Something was seriously not adding up about this guy; one minute he’s climbing old buildings and into windows and in the next he’s driving priceless sportscars? How did he steal that?

 

He reminds himself that it’s not his business, though, no matter how curious he finds it.

 

“In case you forgot, you attend a pretty popular school, and I’m pickin’ up my friend who also goes to this popular school. Chill out, shorty.” Jiwon explains cooly, smooths back his hair which is wet now while he looks like an entirely different person than him from earlier.

 

All loose white flannel and proper jeans, and pricey sneakers Jinhwan could only dream of purchasing on days he’s not broke. He looks less like the fresh out of bed kind of humble and more vain and dangerous, to put it simply. If he didn’t annoy Jinhwan so much or smelled of the same perfume, he’d be intrigued.

 

“Oh.” Is all he manages for now, tucked back within himself by a man with a belt that’s more expensive than his entire outfit, dumbfounded as he deadpans for a prolonged second that feels like a lifetime, unsure if he should apologize or not. Jiwon gives him a strange look for that, for fiddling with himself on spot like a damn child, and he decides he won’t—

 

“Okay, bye, then.”

 

“Hey, wait, I just wanted to say hi... Maybe introduce myself and ask you, _just_ ask you, what your favourite flower is...?“

 

The eldest shakes his head, intolerant. He was not about to let them hit a single base whatsoever. “No thanks—”

 

“Bobby hyung!” Overlaps their mediocre conversation, _if could you even call it a conversation_ , and Jiwon suddenly looks alerted as his neck whips yowards the gleeful sound of the call. _Who’s Bobby?_

 

“Kim Donghyuk—“ _It’s him? Jiwon is Bobby?_

 

Jinhwan finds no time to question it, though, as he sighs out in relief and gratitude for the presenting chance to escape, which approaches them in the form of a guy with pink boxing shorts and a hoodie on. An angel in disguise and terrible fashion taste, he thinks to himself, then takes the chance to slink away as Jiwon turns entirely from him to acknowledge his friend.

 

“Roses,” He whispers it into a surge of wind as if telling him a secret and makes sure that by the next moment Jiwon decides to glance back for his presence, he finds not a single fragment of him waiting.

 

Roses have always been his favourite since a child. His mother was the reason behind his fascination, and loved them just as much as he had grown to, as well. His older sister fancied all the types that weren’t red, and she would gift him white roses whenever she felt he needed them most. They’ve always been a big part of his life back in Jeju, but later in the night when he falls asleep, for the first time he dreams of kind eyes, and _sunflowers_.

 

 _Ah, I must be farther away from home than I think._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi again. have you enjoyed as i wished for you before? thank you for reading either way.
> 
> i have to say, jinhwan has a lot of quirks and possesses negative traits such as being judgmental and stubborn. and assuming. but he’ll get better, or do you think he will? 
> 
> and as for jiwon, there’s so much underlying potential of jiwon that i haven’t yet unleashed. but i want to try to always keep the story centered around the two of them and their friends alone because... this is a bobhwan fic. but know that jiwon is a lot, as you can tell by the many times he switches up. 
> 
> look forward to the next one!! i love you today, too.
> 
> btw, i think bobby totally cleaned up just in case he ran into jinan. hehe

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this please let me know in the comments and don’t forget to offer some kudos! I might not be able to update much often at all but still, thank you so much for reading and giving feedback if you could. I love you.


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